


The Heart Dies of this Sweetness

by AgentCoop



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ash Lynx and Okumura Eiji go to Japan, Ash trying to protect Eiji in the only way he knows, Blindness, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Bondage, But Worse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 19, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I promise I will save them both, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vomiting, Whump, because he is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: He is nothing and as long as he remains nothing then nothing can make him feel.An alternate take on Episode 19: Where instead of putting Ash's mind to use, Golzine blinds him knowing full well that Ash is terrified of darkness and then tortures him.This started as complete whump but has now grown into actual fic with feelings and plot and all that jazz. PLEASE read the tags. Please let me know if there is something untagged that you would like tagged.





	1. Chapter 1

As the car door closes, Ash blinks just once. The street seems to waver in front of his eyes as the car begins to move, almost as though it were never there. 

***

He’s tired.

 

He doesn’t feel much right now except a bone deep weariness that settles in the base of every muscle of his body. Golzine is watching him from just across the intricate coffee table, and Ash holds his gaze but says nothing.

It’s too exhausting to speak.

“You give up too easily,” Golzine finally says—a small waft of smoke from his cigar pushing through the congealed air around them. “I thought I trained you better than this.”

Ash says nothing. He’s too tired.

“Hmm,” Golzine murmurs. 

He studies Ash then, each movement familiar, each intake of breath a sharp push at the carefully erected walls that Ash has painstakingly constructed. He won’t look away, but there is a faint tremor of anxiety now that thrums through his veins. _There is nothing easy about this_ , Ash thinks. 

Golzine snaps his fingers just once. It is the smallest tremor of sound, but even so, men burst through the door. Ash doesn’t look away from the Master, but he keeps track of the new bodies in the room. He can feel them, can sense them, can see them almost peripherally. Seven men. 

“I won’t fight you,” Ash says, and Golzine smiles a bit at that. 

“Oh I think you might.” 

Ash swallows, then moves to gently pick up the glass of wine near him. He sips at it, the smallest mouthful, both graceful and dangerous.

“Do you remember how I used to get on my knees for you?” 

Golzine laughs then, and Ash licks his lips. It’s a calculated move, his tongue just wetting the barest brink. He carefully places the glass back on the table and, without a sound, slides down to his knees. One of the men moves behind him, but he catalogs it like he catalogs every other moment of his time. The barest perception of where he is, the feeling of the air current shifting around him ever so slightly. 

Ash moves forward on his knees until he is staring up at Golzine. He licks his lips once more and cocks a casual grin. “I know you haven’t had anyone who can make you cum like I can.” 

The words mean nothing. They are the barest of syllables falling musically from his ever-so-perfect mouth. 

Golzine chuckles again, and turns to stub out the remainder of his cigar. “You’ve always had a mouth on you, boy.” 

“You’ve always liked my mouth on you, master.” 

“That’s not why we’re here.” Golzine snaps his fingers again and Ash stiffens as the men come up behind him. One kneels down next to him and wraps a bulky forearm around his neck while two more pull his arms around his back. The click of the handcuffs is cold and harsh, but not unexpected. 

Ash swallows, but tries to relax. He won’t fight. 

“This Eiji has made a kitten out of my lynx,” Golzine scoffs. “You’re no good to me without your claws.” 

The arm around his neck tightens and Ash struggles to breath. “Leave him out of this. I did what you asked.” 

“For now.” He nods, and the man behind Ash yanks him up. 

“Leave him out of this, Golzine!” His throat hurts a bit but there is panic that is starting to flow through his veins and it’s unacceptable, it’s not ok, nothing about this is ok… 

Ash closes his eyes and shudders in a breath through his constricted airways. He pushes his mental walls forward, reconstructs the cement, the concrete, the brick. It’s a crack, nothing more. Nothing that can’t be fixed. 

When he opens his eyes again he is calm. Nothing at all behind his green lenses. He is empty, a husk, barely human. Nothing matters because he is nothing. 

“What do you want from me?” 

“I told you,” Golzine says. “You knew what you were walking into. His eyes narrow, and then he repeats “ _I’ll let you work for me as the lowest of prostitutes_.” 

The arm tightens once more around Ash’s neck and he sees another one of Golzine’s goons walking towards him. 

“Stay still, baby boy,” a voice hisses in his ear, and Ash tightens again as panic threatens to break down his walls. 

“I told you I’d do it. Golzine, I’ll do what you want—” 

Another hand grips around his forehead and yanks his head back. 

“I know you’ll do what I want. You’ve given up. And like I told you, a lynx without claws is no use to me.” 

Ash smells the thick scent of smoke once more and knows that Golzine has picked up the cigar again. 

“I’m more interested in what you’ll do once I break you. If I’ll find your claws again.” He leans forward, a slithering, fluid motion. “And if your claws come out,” he smiles. “Our deal is up. Eiji will be mine.” 

 _Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_ the crack widens and Ash throws himself forward. 

The men are too large, they are too good at their jobs. They hold him back, and one steps in front of him. He’s heavy-set and his breath smells like a horrid mix of cigar and garlic and Ash wants to vomit as the man bends over him, smirking. 

“Stay still,” the voice repeats in his ear and Ash sees the vial for the first time. 

His breathing is coming in gasps now, because not this. He can’t do this. This was for his training only. This was to heighten his senses. This was for nothing else but making him a better assassin and Golzine isn’t trying to train him now— 

He’s trying to break him. 

Ash squeezes his eyes closed as hard as he can and he throws his head to the side. The arm around his neck tightens and he can’t get enough air, His wrists are rubbing raw against the metal cuffs and he’s desperately trying to move but there are seven men around him and even a wild animal can be subdued by enough force. 

“Open them.” 

Ash jerks to the other side and a panicked whine escapes from his throat. He’d feel ashamed for breaking so soon, but he’s empty. He’s nothing. 

“Open your eyes or you’ll lose the lids as well.” 

His stomach roils but he opens them. The man with the vial stands close and he’s blurry now. Ash looks from left to right, the nervous twitch of prey, and another piece of the disintegrating wall crumbles. The man holds up a small dropper and a burning liquid spatters into Ash’s left eye first. He moans then, more of himself escaping the shallow shell he’s built, and as the man releases the liquid into his right eye, the world fuzzes all around him and goes black. 

“I remember you liked this little project when you were training.” 

Golzine is still in the same position, but without sight his voice just sounds hollow in Ash’s ears. 

“I recall Blanca regaling us with tales of your pathetic whimpering. Your nightmares. Your hysteria.” 

The voice is moving and Ash’s stomach tightens. The hands release him and he drops hard to his knees. His breathing is coming in short gasps now but he’s trying to reign in his terror. He’s trying to listen, to forget about sight and rely on his other senses. They’ve been trained. They are enough. He doesn’t need vision and it’s temporary, it’s a temporary drug that won’t last and he’s going to be fine, and of _course_ Blanca told him, Blanca was no freer than Ash— 

“It’s pitiful, really” 

Golzine’s voice is right next to his left ear and Ash visibly jerks back. He can’t see anything and there are men surrounding him and the memory of hands all over his body is overwhelming him. “Golzine,” he shutters out, but his voice sounds small and horrid to his ears. Not the voice of a lynx. The voice of a broken boy. 

“Golzine,” he tries again, and a hand brushes down his neck. 

Ash yelps and flinches backwards, into the arms of another one of the men and now there are more hands on him, touching him, grabbing at his wrists, his arms, his legs, 

“Golzine,” he screams, and he’s dragged backwards. His legs are straggling to kick out and he’s forgotten that he wouldn’t fight because this pure terror is from the worst of his nightmares, his walls have crashed, he has nothing left because he is nothing— 

“Take him to the basement and string him up. He has some people who are very excited to meet him.” 

“Master, _please_ ,” Ash whines and something hard hits him on the back of his head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s the slightest sensation of liquid running down his right arm that makes him jerk back to consciousness.

His wrists are still cuffed, but now they are stretched far above his hand and firmly hooked to the one of the many structural I-beams that extend throughout the basement. His eyes are still pinched closed—he can’t bring himself to face the darkness yet—but an intense burst of copper is permeating the air around him and as the liquid continues to move sluggishly down his forearm, soaking into his cotton shirt, he can hear the dull sound of drops splatting against the cement.

There is pain, but it’s dull. Just one of the many inconveniences he’s filed away to deal with later. More pressing is his lack of vision, and the black panic that’s threatening to overtake him with every breath.

He forces himself to breathe slowly, agonizingly slowly, and slowly his lids open and let the darkness inside.

Immediately the air seems to thicken, choking him with it’s claustrophobic weight. But he breathes again and listens, letting his heightened auditory senses function for him. The _drip, drip, drip_ of his blood penetrates first, then only the heaviness of being underground. He blinks a few times, and his breathing quickens as the blackness remains. Despite the pounding in his ears from his frantic heartbeat, the space around him is dull, lifeless.

He is still alone.

Ash moves his head from side to side, cataloging his injuries, and winces at the sharp burst of pain behind his right temple. Something hit him hard—even the brief movement is bringing waves of nausea. He swallows it down and flexes his fingers, noting the range of motion. His feet are just barely touching the cement below and his shoulders are screaming at the strain but his legs still work, and his fingers still work, and his hands still work, and he’s going to be alright, he’s going to be just fine. He won’t fight this because he agreed to it and this if this is what it takes to keep Eiji safe then it is worth it because Eiji is…

Pure.

He is light.

He is warmth and he is effervescent and he is good and Ash will do anything to repay the world for that moment of truth.

He closes his eyes again and presses the darkness back out. Then he begins the painstaking process of reassembling his walls.

***

Eiji is frantic.

His shoulder is throbbing and he clasps his right hand across himself desperately trying to clamp down on the sharp staccato thrum of his heartbeat that is practically bursting through the bullet wound.

“Sing!” He calls, stumbling down the hall. “Sing!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Sing murmurs as he comes up besides Eiji. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Ash will kill us all if we let something happen to you!”

Eiji turns his head and glares. “Ash is gone.”

“He’ll be back.”

“No!” Eiji shouts. He’s cold all over and he’s certain it’s not just the fever. “He did something. He’s gone. Sing—”

Sing steps up to him then, his brown eyes intent.

“He’s gone.”

***

Ash can’t help the full body flinch as the basement door opens. It comes from behind him so he knows now that he’s facing Northeast, towards the far wall. He takes a moment to recall the layout of the basement as the men surround him—the small escape window towards the top of the wall he’s facing, the industrial metal shelving units adjacent to that. _The wooden tool table full of torture devices_ , his mind helpfully interjects. Ash sniffs. It’s no use being dramatic. He’s had worse.

The hand in his hair yanking his head backwards counts as worse right now.

“You can take this,” the voice whispers in his ear and Ash stiffens.

Blanca’s here.

“So, my precious lynx,” Golzine says.

He’s somewhere off to the back right and Ash swallows hard. Of course he couldn’t do this himself. He’s content to watch, to guard, to stand over. He’s content to just let his presence swallow the warmth of the room until someone breaks. Until Ash breaks.

Then he’ll sure as shit get his hands dirty.

“You thought you could be a boss.”

“I am a boss,” Ash grits out. Blanca’s fist in his hair pulls tighter and Ash tries to relax to take some of the strain off his neck. His shoulders are screaming in agony from supporting almost the entirety of his body weight for so long but he ignores that and tries to listen, tries to hear if there are others near him yet. A calloused finger drifts casually across the tight skin at his throat and Ash almost loses all of his control. He clenches his teeth and fights the whine that wants so desperately to escape.

“I let you play your games on the streets, boy. You were adequate. But a true Boss doesn’t let a sniveling child get under his skin in weeks. A true Boss has no weakness.”

The hand is back at his throat, dancing almost delicately across his skin and Ash wants to scream. It’s not Blanca. Blanca’s holding him still but he’d never do that. He’s a hired man, an assassin, a mercenary who will work for the highest bidder but he’s a killer, not a predator.

Ash swallows down the bile at the touch of the unknown man and snarls, “please teach me your ways, _Master_.”

A fist strikes out and punches him in the gut and Ash does whine then, fights to curl up and protect himself, but Blanca knows his work. He’s holding him back and there’s nowhere to go. He pants, letting the hurt overtake his senses for a mere moment, letting it center him once again.

“Respect,” A whining voice taunts in his ear and Ash does his best not to spit.

“No,” Dino says. “No. We are past that now. You are not a true Boss, you are a spoiled little brat who I’ve given far too much leeway these past two years. You will not be going back to your gangs.”

“Because I’m yours again. Because I will do the lowly work your other whores can’t. Because I can stomach whatever you throw at me.” Ash grimaces. His throat is sore from speaking and breathing at this angle but he manages the briefest of laughs. It sounds cold and metallic to his ears. “I know the deal I made.”

“Because you won’t be able to hold a gun when I’m done with you. Because you won’t be able to walk. And perhaps when I’m done breaking bones in your body, and slicing through tendons, maybe when you’re screaming in agony on the floor and offering me the world, your gangs, your body, your mind, your precious _Eiji,_ ” he sneers, “perhaps I’ll take your eyes permanently. Perhaps I’ll take your ears. Maybe your teeth will be next. The only working parts I need are your mouth and ass.”

The hand at his throat is tightening and Ash can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and there is only blackness around him and he deserves this torment, he deserves hell but it scares him because somewhere deep inside his chest is the smallest beat of wings. It’s almost shocking, he thinks. This realization that he still wants to fly.

“Break his arm first,” Dino calls.

There’s a flurry of sound around him and suddenly he’s hit with something hard, and solid, and metal, and it doesn’t stop. Ash can feel his left arm shattering, he can hear the bone breaking over and over and over again and his shoulder pops out of the joint as he screams and writhes away from Golzine’s men,

And still Blanca holds his head back.


	3. Chapter 3

_The basement is dimly lit but Ash can see blue sky shining from the small escape window. He thinks for a moment about sitting in Golzine’s outdoor patio garden when they are done here. He might bring a book. Might breathe for a moment before reporting to the old man. Ash smiles._

_“Ash?”_

_He crouches down and scoots the gun across the cement floor—listens to it skitter to a stop a few yards away. Blanca bends down and retrieves it, then steps closer to Ash._

_“Do you trust me?”_

_“No,” Ash replies. His eyes follow Blanca, who is moving around him and reaching for something on the card table behind them both._

_“Good.” Blanca palms something from the table and walks back to Ash who is on his knees._

_“If he wanted you to kill me you’d have done it by now.”_

_Blanca chuckles at that. “No, kid. Neither of us are lucky enough to have an easy end like that.”_

_Ash sniffs. “Figures.”_

_“Look up at the ceiling for me and keep your eyes open.”_

_Ash watches him a moment longer, then slowly tilts his neck back, ignoring the shiver of anxiety at the submissive position._

_“Don’t blink until I tell you to. I don’t want to screw up your vision.”_

_“Blanca—”_

_“Just trust me.”_

***

They release his arms and Ash crumples to the floor. He turns just in time to avoid falling on his already injured shoulder, but the jolt still makes his entire body scream out in pain. He’s panting, and it’s a loud, animalistic sound. Every breath he manages to suck in vibrates through his bones and he can actually feel them shifting in his arm. He’s shaking and shivering and so, so cold, and he realizes that he’s lying in something wet, something sticky and thick and wet—

and it must be his own blood.

Ash is dizzy, and somewhere behind him he can hear someone laughing. It’s a hateful thing, this sound of joy in such a desolate space. Someone kicks him then, and he finally loses the battle with his stomach. He rolls and vomits, choking on bile and gasping at the way his ribs ache—gasping at the way that the ache is absolutely nothing compared to the searing pain that is his entire left side.

He can’t move his fingers. There is no connection, no fluttering synapses, no relation between his brain and his left arm right now. There is only pain and with every heaving moment there are roots of a new fear, a fear that he’ll never hold a gun again. He’ll be worthless. He’ll be no more than a warm body for Golzine to pimp out and he knew this was the deal but he’s never been so afraid in his entire life.

There’s more laughing around him and someone kicks him again. Ash curls up and fights to breathe through the pain. He’s sobbing with it but he’s not begging yet so there’s still hope.

That’s something.

Despite the violent shivering he can’t quite control, he can still sense the air change in front of him as someone kneels by his head.

“Doesn’t feel too good does it, sweetheart?” The man’s voice is low and hoarse—years of too many cigarettes. Ash groans as fingers grip his chin and pull his face up.

“Your Master has so many fun plans for you. What do you want to play next? Your other arm? Or we could slice a hamstring? Wouldn’t do to have you running at your first chance.”

Ash’s breath tightens impossibly in his throat but he doesn’t move. He won’t give them that. Someone nudges at his left arm with the toe of their boot and he screams then, the pain flaring sharp enough for him to start gagging again and the man holding him by his chin pushes him suddenly away.

“Cut it out,” he snaps. “I’m trying to talk here.”

“You’re being an asshole. The rest of us want to have some fun,” another voice calls out.

Ash blinks and lets the swaying of the floor drown out his other senses. The darkness doesn’t seem so impenetrable anymore. He can see shadows move around him and that makes the dizziness even worse but he doesn’t blink again. Doesn’t look up towards them. Tries to pretend nothing has changed because maybe, just maybe, they will forget to dose him again.

“He can see you, you realize.”

Ash freezes. Blanca’s voice is quiet, but it carries a weight that stagnates around them all.

“Huh?” The men sound confused and Ash would laugh at their idiocy if he weren’t shaking while bleeding out on the same cement floor that he started this nightmare on seven years ago.

“He can see you. He’s been tracking your movements since you cut him down. Probably just shadows still. But I’d move over and let me at his eyes again before his claws come out.”

The men back away from him then and Ash watches as the grey lightens almost imperceptibly, filling the space the bodies were just moments before. Blanca walks towards him then, his boot-falls heavy and hollow.

“Hey kid,” he murmurs.

Ash spits, but everything hurts and he can’t even build up enough momentum to move. It just dribbles hopelessly down his chin. He laughs at that, letting out a sharp gasp in pain even as the small inhalation moves through his torso and pulls at his arm.

“Just stay still Ash,” Blanca says, and then his hands are running gently over Ash’s arm.

It’s like knives, and fire, and bullets, and teeth, and Ash jerks so hard he smacks his head against the concrete. “Oh…don’t, oh my god…don’t,” he’s trying not to be sick again, but he can feel it building within him.

Blanca’s hands pause at the top of his shoulder, fingers splaying out along Ash’s chest and under his ribs. With a quick snap, he pops the joint back into place and Ash snaps his teeth together on a sob.

It’s better now though.

It’s hard to imagine something being better in the state he is in, but the pressure is just ever so slightly less and his breaths are coming easier.

“Hey,” one of the goons calls out from behind them. “Why are you fixing him?”

“Just shut your fucking mouth,” Blanca hisses, and Ash tenses at the caustic bitterness in his voice. Blanca turns back to him then. “I can’t fix your arm kid,” he mutters, almost apologetically, “but at least you’ll be able to breath a little easier.”

“For…” Ash coughs then, and something inside him breaks at the attempt at vocalizing. He chokes a moment, coughing until he spits out blood, then gasps for a few seconds before trying again. “For how much longer?”

And Blanca actually smiles at that. “There you are,” he says fondly, and tossles Ash’s hair. It falls across his face, heavy and wet with sweat and blood, but Blanca doesn’t move his hand for a moment. Ash tries not to sink into that small sliver of comfort, but it’s the only warmth he’s seen in days.

“Open your eyes, kid.”

“Please,” Ash whimpers.

Blanca’s hand falls away and there is nothing but chilly, dank, basement air.

“Open your eyes, Ash.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Eiji finally!
> 
> And...of course more awful stuff. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments--they are whats keeping me writing this!

There was something happening in the upper part of the manse.

Under normal circumstances, Ash would have perked up at the hushed voices behind him, the absence of hands on his aching body, the men all congregating in the sudden, practiced ways of men who can smell danger in the wind.

Under normal circumstance, Ash’s arm wouldn’t be shattered in multiple places. There wouldn’t be jagged bone exploding out from his flesh. He wouldn’t be struggling to breath without sharp, fiery pain flashing down his arm.

As it is, he lets them confer behind him, and then make a hasty exit. He listens, then inhales as deeply as his body will allow, confirming that there is no one left. Then he scoots himself slowly backwards until he hits the cold cement blocks of the far wall, and allows himself a brief moment to close his eyes in exhaustion.

***

Eiji moves carefully through the abandoned hallway, noting with casual disdain the small knot of fear that’s wound tightly throughout his midsection.

_“You’re our bait. You’re the only one this’ll work with. The only one they’ll believe is stupid enough to come alone.”_

Sing’s words dance through his ears on repeat. He’d tried turning it off earlier, the hastily formatted commands. Tried counting his breathing, or his steps, or just chewing on his lip. His nerves were on high alert though, and he’d given in, let it play over and over as a kind of mantra.

The only one.

The only one.

The only one.

 _Ash_ , he thought, grimacing with the sudden leap and connection that his thoughts made. He was close now—on the second floor of the manse. Sing had assured him that they’d be keeping Ash down below, in the sublayers, but that the second level was where he was to make a commotion. Draw out guards. Draw out men.

They’d come for Eiji because he was innocent. He was pure. He was a fun toy.

Eiji swallowed bitterly and turned back to his mantra. He’d be fine. He trusted Sing. He trusted Cain. He trusted Alex and Kong and—

His mind was starting to race again and with it, his breathing picked up.

He rounded the corner into a wall of men.

***

The door to the basement opened with a jarring crunch and footsteps pattered down the old, wooden stairs.

Ash opened his eyes, blinking blearily. He felt worse for the few hours of sleep, not better, but he knew his mind would start to suffer from the exhaustion if he didn’t take what chances he could. He uncurled himself and extended his legs in front of him, lounging back into the wall with practiced ease.

He would play their games.

A jolt of pain ran down his left side as he jostled his arm slightly and his right fist curled reflexively. Ash glowered, but swallowed his anger down just as quickly as it had come.

He would play this game.

“Hey princess,” one of Golzine’s goons called out. “How you feeling, baby boy?”

As turned his head toward the sound, noting with some satisfaction that the darkness was once more starting to fade from his eyes. He could make out slight shapes again, fuzzing against a new color--dark grey. They’d turned the lights on in the basement then. Never a good sign.

The return of his eyesight did mean that he’d gotten even more sleep than he’d realized. He mentally cursed himself for letting his guard down enough to lose track of time, but let his mouth curl upwards in an infinitesimal grin.

“Hey boys. Trouble upstairs?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” another man chided. “Don’t worry yourself over the affairs of real men, little one. I think it’s time you put that sweet mouth to use on something besides small talk.”

Ash let his grin grow wider, ignoring the small flash of shame that ignited deep within him. “I didn’t think you’d ever ask.” He licked his lips. “I might need a little…guidance. Seeing as how I can’t see and all.” He chuckled, letting words flow like honeyed wine out his swollen mouth. “Who’s first, boys?”

Ash didn’t move an inch. Instead, he let the men descend further into the basement, slowly surrounding him. He had his back to the wall now, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that they’d let him stay that way with that meager protection for long.

“No offense kid,” the man who’d first spoken drawled, “but I’m not sure I trust my dick anywhere near those fangs.”

“I’ll play nice,” Ash purred. “You know I’m good for it.”

“You’re fine, Max,” spoke another goon, and Ash felt his grin slip and stomach congeal at the familiar name.

 _It’s not the same Max_ , he repeated to himself. _Of course it’s not the same Max. Just the same name. Don’t think about the old man right now. Don’t think about—_

He flinched when a breath glanced across his cheek and tried to order his thoughts again, file them back into proper place, forget about everything and everyone from the outside. He needed to pay attention. He needed to know positions, surroundings, how many men and where precisely they were. Two goons bent forward and grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him up and he couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his lungs as the bones shifted. They dragged him back to the center of the room, then dropped him to his knees. Someone’s hands knitted through his hair and jerked sharply back, exposing his neck. His breathing came in sharp gasps, but he still grinned.

“Easy now, boys. I said I’d play nice.”

“Just remember who gets hurt if you don’t,” drawled a nasty voice in Ash’s ear. Ash held himself perfectly still, refusing to move as the man bent even closer and tongued at the lobe. “Don’t want to skin any Japanese bobcats if we don’t have to,” the man hummed.

Ash let the grin grow larger. It was hurting his face now, bruises pulling tight. “Who’s. First.”

The familiar sound of a zipper near his cheek relaxed the tension that was blooming in his jaw. He’d been here before. He knew this game. He knew the rules.

“Open up,” Max drawled, and though the hands fisting through his hair didn’t let up, and though his head was bent at an uncomfortable angle, Ash opened.

He let his mind shutter close through the first. Deadbolted the door on the second. On the third he watched the key fall and fall and fall in his minds eye.

But though he listened for it with every ounce of his being, he never heard it hit a bottom.

***

“Eiji Okumura. The lynx’s pet.”

Eiji kneeled before Dino Golzine, not tied, not bound, not even surrounded. It was a testament to how little threat he actually was, he realized with a sick twist in his gut. He remained silent, but he held Golzine’s eyes, refusing to be cowed.

“A one man rescue mission, is it?”

Eiji just watched, noting the slight wrinkle in the crease of Golzine’s forehead, noting the way his jugular jumped in imitation of each heartbeat.

Golzine’s eyes narrowed and he nodded once.

The blow was not unexpected but Eiji collapsed against the floor with the force of the hit anyways. His face was on fire and he could barely feel his jaw. His eyes watered, and he coughed once, feeling his cheek against the coarse threads of an exquisitely patterned Persian rug. Then he pushed himself up again, slowly, and returned his gaze to Golzine’s face.

“Hmmm,” Golzine murmured. “A spirited one. You’ll be fun to break.”

“Ash made a deal with you.” His voice sounded rough to his ears, and his jaw ached. “You won’t break me if you want to keep him.”

“I’m not sure where you ideas of…criminal ethics seem to come from, child. But we don’t play by the rules of Ash’s happy little street gangs. I can do what I wish. With whom I wish.”

“Ash won’t let you.”

Golzine laughed then, and men surrounded Eiji again, hauling him to his feet. “Oh, Ash isn’t in much shape to be making decisions at the moment. Would you like to see him, perhaps? Would you like to be taken to your king?” He smirked again, and Eiji’s stomach tightened, unsure all of a sudden. _Where are you Sing_ , he sent out, thoughts spiraling through the oppressive air.

The grip tightened around his arm and a voice hissed in his ear “answer when spoken to, brat.”

Eiji growled and tightened his mouth.

This time, the hit took him square in the gut and he doubled over, coughing and gasping. His ribs burned with it and for a brief moment he flashed back to the first day he’d met Ash. Running through the alleyways. Leaving him there with broken ribs as Eiji jumped, and flew, and—

Crashed.

“I think it’s about time for a reunion. Take the martyr to his majesty. Let him watch his precious king on his knees.”

 _Ash,_ Eiji thought, pressing his lips together even tighter so he wouldn’t slip up and speak the name.

“Then, go to the armory. He’s not here alone.”

Eiji tensed, the fear finally exploding outward through his body, but the men just dragged him, stumbling from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to add tags as they come up, but please let me know if you need something tagged that I haven't! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kind kudos and comments! 
> 
> And if you don't like this, feel free to NOT READ. I've done my best to tag and I was not super impressed by the harassing comments left here after the last chapter.

Eiji can see Ash below him, on his knees, and for once in his entire life he manages to keep his mouth shut.

The men drag him through the door and roughly goad him down the stairs until he’s standing on the cement basement floor. The chill permeates his sneakers and he shivers.

Ash doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He doesn’t even look Eiji’s direction.

One of the men kicks at the back of his knees and Eiji crumples forward, landing hard. The wet sounds of sucking and gasping are impossibly loud in his ears and a hot flicker of emotion works it’s way up his throat. He’s not sure if it’s shame, or embarrassment, or horror at seeing his friend in this position, but it’s like a poison, burning through his esophagus. He wants to choke, but he forces his lips together and refuses to make a sound. He doesn’t want to make this worse then it already is.

A low groan fills the air, and Eiji shudders as the men once more haul him to his feet and drag him even closer to where Ash is on his knees.

***

Ash swallows the bitter taste and continues to ignore the dark shapes off to his right.

They’d brought someone else into the room while his throat was full of yet another disgusting cock but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, he was playing the game like a good little pet and he was nothing—

One of the men holding him pulled back again on his arms and he gasped with the certainty of movement. Ash struggled to his feet as quickly as he could, to help relieve some of the pressure from his broken arm, but they still didn’t let go—just dug in harder with meaty palms.

“I’m coming, I’m…jesus—” he wheezed, letting them walk him forward. “I’m coming.” Nothing about his voice sounded right. It was cracked and used up and shattered and it commanded no one. It couldn’t even command his own attention. It was broken.

The shapes were shapes now, not just pitch black nothingness, but they were still too dark to make out features. He could tell that someone else was on his knees, back further towards the stairs, and he could see a few more standing bodies surrounding the small one. He knew there were at least a dozen men around him. He’d tasted more than a few of them, and those ones were standing back, relaxed and comfortable, almost enough to be caught off guard—

But it wasn’t a fight he was going to start. He hurt all over and he wanted to throw up. He wasn’t sure any more if the nausea was situational or if he’d been so long without food that his stomach was rebelling. Either way he felt shaky and weak, and wanted nothing more than to lie down for a moment. Feel the cold damp of the basement floor. Let it leech into his shaky skin and saturate.

He doesn’t want to sleep.

He can’t let himself fall to sleep, fall deeper than a few hours at a time.

He knows his nightmares have never gone away, he knows he wakes some nights paralyzed, sweating, soaked, gasping for air.

Eiji never said anything about it. He was quiet too. Sometimes he’d carefully sit up, moving slowly and gracefully as though announcing every breath, every motion of his body. Broadcasting so as not to surprise Ash.

Sometimes he’d make his way carefully over to the moth-eaten and shredded armchair that sat, sad and desolate, in the corner. Sometimes he’d curl up there, chin placed on his knee and arms wrapped around his shin in the practiced manner of one who watches, one who sees. He’d just sit and stare at Ash and the silence rang of music.

Sometimes he’d study Ash more carefully first. Watch his breaths, watch his mouth twitch at the corners as Ash so desperately tried to reign in his own panic. Ash felt open then, picked bare, soul on display. Eiji would nod just once at whatever it was he saw, and then make his way gently over to the bed, sitting quietly down, the mattress barely moving under his soft weight.

Sometimes Ash would simply ignore him and roll over, pressing his eyes closed as tightly as he could so as not to let the pressure of everything inside of him burst free.

Sometimes Ash sat next to him. Not touching, not moving, but close enough that each breath from Eiji caused the tiny blond hairs on his forearm to whisper.

Sometimes Ash caved, and Eiji held him, and Ash cried and sank into the warmth of someone who would never ask him for anything in return.

He can’t sleep now. He can’t let himself actually sleep because he knows his triggers and he knows whats waiting for him if he allows his body to shut down. He can’t let Golzine or his men see him at his weakest. Ash is realistic—he knows that eventually his body will give out and he’ll have to get more than a few hours, but he also knows that if he allows himself to relax into a deeper rest his demons will come out to play.

They push him forward and he stumbles, falling hard and throwing both arms out to catch his fall. It’s a horrible mistake, and he realizes it as he is doing it. He screams out once at the visceral feeling of bones shifting and grinding together and he curls up on himself, shaking and gasping. Scabs break open again and warmth drips down his arm. The smell of blood is so strong he can taste it, and Ash flinches away from it, from himself, just wills himself to breath and to stop acting weak,

Stop acting weak

Stop acting—

There’s another scent near him. It’s a soft, bittersweet thing that smells like safety. Smells like almonds.

Smells like Eiji.

He hears a whimper, and the sound of someone being violently ill.

There is anger now, and as it builds within him, Ash allows himself the smallest of smiles. Minute, imperceptible.

Golzine and his men have not held their end of the bargain.

***

Eiji watches them lead Ash over to him and can’t quell the panic rising in his stomach. He’s shaking on the ground, but still he presses his lips together, refusing to make a sound. Ash’s eyes track movements but they don’t settle and Eiji knows he still can’t see well enough for anything. He won’t make a sound, he won’t add to Ash’s torment. He’s already made his sacrifice worthless, he knows this, and he’s sick with it, but he can’t bring this down on Ash on top of everything else.

They shove Ash forward and he shrieks, curling in on himself.

And Eiji finally sees his arm.

Eiji throws his hands up to cover his mouth and barely swallows his own whimper of fear. Ash is crippled. They’ve destroyed his left arm. Eiji can see fragments of shattered bone sticking out, glistening white in the basement lighting, glistening white against the dark red of newly flowing blood. It’s twisted out of shape, and broken from his forearm all the way down to his hand. The back of his hand is open, and between shreds of skin Eiji can see smashed fragments of knuckles. He can’t contain the sound then, he heaves once, then folds over himself as he’s puking on the floor.

He wasn’t fast enough. They’ve already ruined Ash.

Eiji knows that deep within himself he’d held on to a small shred of hope that Ash would escape this life, Ash would run, Ash would find a new home, far from violence, and would never hold a gun again.

He’s sick with the thought that no matter how deeply he’d buried the wish, it still surfaced enough as an idea in the world to cause…

This.

This atrocity. Ash is a broken lynx and he’ll never shoot again.

Eiji looks up from his own weakness he watches Ash jerk to attention at the sound, and mouth something, voiceless to the air.

_Sing, hurry, Sing hurry please_ , Eiji thinks as the muscles in Ash’s back ripple in sudden clarity.

There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded predator.

Ash swallows and speaks again, quiet but clearly now.

“Eiji.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Chapters seem to be getting slowly and inexorably longer... 
> 
> And I totally thought saving was on the way but...Sorry. One more painful one to go ;)
> 
> Your comments after the last chapter were so lovely and amazing and just--thank you all so much! I really appreciate it <3

“Eiji,” Ash says, and Eiji flinches.

“Ash—” the words stick in his mouth, calamitous in their intent but only small and fragile as they escape. He raises his glance and tries to make eye contact with Ash, but the other boy still can’t quite see clearly enough. Ash is looking just past him, his irises bright and green but his pupils dilated enormously. Still, when he speaks it is with an authority belying no one and Eiji shivers.

“What’s this boys? Did we break our deal already?” Ash is relaxed as he speaks, his arm dangling uselessly at his side but his right hand moving, fingers caressing the soft stone of the floor. It’s calculated and it’s confident, and it’s horrifying to Eiji how quickly Ash can flip from abused kid to vicious fiend.

The men around them both merely laugh and one steps forward, cuffing Eiji across the back of the head. He loses his balance for a moment and catches himself on both hands, but it wasn’t more than a tap, a show of defiance, an abuse of power. He straightens up and refuses to look at the men.

He only has eyes for Ash.

“Ash,” he tries again. “I’m sorry—” then he stops suddenly once more. What can he say? He can’t tell him that Sing’s coming without Golzine’s mob listening in. He can’t offer comfort for what Ash has been through in the past forty-eight hours, or console him about the damage to his body—not without making him appear even weaker. He’s been captured, and he’s on his knees surrounded by at least twelve enormous bodyguards, and Ash can barely move without a pained gasp and it looks hopeless, it might be hopeless but

This was the plan.

And he needs to stick to the plan.

One of the men behind him nudges him with the blunt end of a pistol and Eiji freezes on the spot. _Sing_ , he thinks desperately. _Please come faster…_

“What, you’re gonna shoot him now? Seems like a waste of a decent bargaining chip.” Ash is still so relaxed, still so cold, and Eiji doesn’t take his eyes off of him. He tries to breathe, but the gun is pressing into the back of his neck, right in the small divot underneath his hairline—

_right where Ash’s arm laid, just a week ago, when they were roughhousing in the bedroom of the safe house and Ash told him “If you want to win, you might want to eat something other than tofu. You heard of cow? Cows good. That’d work.”_

_And Eiji laughed and punched upwards, just as Ash had taught him, and nailed Ash in the chin causing a squawk of indignation before Ash let go—_

His breath is coming in panicked bursts now because no matter how many times he sees a gun, he can’t get used to the way the air grows heavier in the presence of death.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I can think of plenty of ways to make him last.” The man prods Eiji once more and Eiji screws his eyes closed, counting to ten in Japanese, counting to ten in English, counting to ten in Japanese,

There is the smallest wisp of breath at his neck and then Eiji flinches as someone licks from his collarbone to the soft skin right below his ear. Ash hasn’t moved, he’s still gazing just ever so slightly past Eiji, and Eiji can’t tell if he can discriminate the details of what might be going on, but his cheeks flush with humiliation regardless.

He can’t do this. He can’t do what Ash can do. He can’t stay strong and keep his mind intact because he’s already so close to bursting open in terror.

Ash is grinning now and Eiji looks away as the man bends over him once more, tonging at his ear, teasing his way down Eiji’s chin. He wants to react, wants to strike out, but his hands remain clenched at his sides and he focuses on breathing.

“I’m sure you can,” Ash says. Lightly. Unconcerned. “So who’s up boys? I think I’ve had enough of a break.”

Eiji looks back down at the floor as the man behind him stands up. The gun stays firmly pressed to his skin. It’s cold there, sharp and lethal. He thinks it might leave an imprint that he’ll never be able to completely rub free.

“The lynx still wants to play!” One of the men shouts, and Eiji swallows bile.

“I’d be careful,” a dark voice sounds from the corner, and Ash’s smile grows larger. He turns his head towards the new speaker. Eiji watches the smallest tremor in a vein in Ash’s neck. It’s the only signal that there is any tension at all in his body. Everything else is so perfectly controlled, so graceful. He could be at the opera. He could be watching a movie.

He could be reading a novel.

Eiji swallows, and the gun pushes even harder against him.

“Blanca,” Ash says, his voice lilting and mocking. “Blanca, Blanca, Blanca. Time to dose me up again?”

Blanca chuckles from the back corner and Eiji can make out the shadow of an enormous man standing there, draped gracefully against the wall. “Boss wanted you to see this first. I’m not coming for your eyes yet.” He settles, and it’s impossible to imagine such an enormous figure folded so effortlessly against stone. “Sorry, kid.”

It’s reticent in it’s delivery and there Eiji can almost hear remorse. Eiji looks back to Ash and watches him blink heavily, the grin stretching harshly across both cheeks. “Then yes,” Ash drawls. “You might want to be careful.” He turns back to the men surrounding Eiji and looks up, almost catching Eiji’s eyes.

His vision is returning. Every moment that passes he becomes more dangerous.

Eiji suppresses a shudder of thrill and counts to ten in English.

“Who’s next?” Ash says, and the men chuckle.

“Fuckin’ buzzkill,” murmurs the one standing closest to Ash. He’s tall, and his belly hangs over the lip of his jeans and sways with every breath. _If all hell breaks lose, he’ll be the first to die_ , Eiji thinks as he watches him approach Ash.

The man unzips his jeans with a loud sigh and steps up, blocking Ash from Eiji’s view.

“Open up, baby,” he says, and Eiji fails to quell the low moan that escapes his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it, Eiji,” Ash quips, “I know what to do. I’m just a whore.”

The words are deprecating and they hurt and Eiji just knows Ash is still smiling. His heart falls, ruinous in it’s descent and he’s positive that the thrumming sound in his ears can’t possibly be from his pulse. His pulse is gone. Nothing pumps blood through his veins. There’s a gaping hole that Ash used to fill and he’s not sure there will ever be enough of his friend left after this to help it heal.

He cringes away at the renewed sounds of sucking—cringes back into the gun—and the man behind him curses, then raises the weapon and quickly brings it down against the side of Eiji’s head.

“Stay still, you Japanese fuck.”

Eiji’s head snaps forward and he catches himself with the palms of his hands. He gasps for a moment, unsure, unsteady, pain building and roaring mountainously against his temple. A trickle of wetness starts to creep down the side of his face and he stays there on all fours, trying not to make a sound, trying not to make this more awful than it already is. His head hurts, and his stomach roils horribly within himself. “Uh…” he murmurs, trying to pull himself back up. Blood is dripping on the cement floor and he watches it, bright and colorful against the backdrop of darkening hate. “Uh…uh…”

The sucking slows for a moment though, and he hears Ash, clear as a bell.

“Leave him out of this.”

Goon #1 with his dick out punches Ash in the face and Eiji gasps as his friend falls backwards.

“Stop it,” he pants. “Stop it. I’m fine Ash, just…don’t hurt him.” His voice sounds pathetically frail in his ears and he hates himself even more in that instant.

He’s not bound. He’s not contained. And he’s no threat at all and they know it. Even with complete freedom, there’s nothing he can do at all.

Then Ash keens.

It’s low, but it cuts straight through Eiji. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he’s watched Ash take harder hits than this before and come back from it like it’s nothing, but he’s not getting up from the floor. “Ash,” he calls, but his voice catches in his throat and comes out a garbled whine.

Ash pushes himself back up with his good arm, and then sways for a moment, eyes unsteady and unsure, before he falls back to the floor.

“Get up you shitty piece of trash,” Goon #1 yells, and he kicks him, hitting him square in the ribs. Even that doesn’t make Ash cry out, but something isn’t right. Something is terribly wrong.

Ash pushes himself up once more and finds his balance, but he looks scared. He looks terrified and unsure, and so, so young.

“Ash,” Eiji tries again, and this time he pushes the words past his lips.

Ash flinches once, looking from left to right, and then he holds his right hand up to his right ear. “I…I…” he stutters, then quickly throws his arm down to catch himself once more as he tumbles down again. “I…can’t…”

Goon #1 swears, and reaches forward, dragging Ash up by his long, blond hair. “Fucking finish.” He presses forward and once more Eiji can’t see Ash’s face anymore, but he can hear him, whining, and choking, and almost crying and—

There is fear then. Eiji’s afraid. He doesn’t know whats going on, he doesn’t know whats wrong, but Ash doesn’t give up this easily and something is happening—

Gunshots ring from upstairs and Eiji’s head snaps forward with the force of the gun pressing into his neck.

“What the fuck,” the man behind him curses, and all the other men look towards the stairs to the basement. “What the fuck,” he repeats, and then the door bursts open in an explosion of violence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some blood and violence in this one but nothing worse than we've already seen I think...
> 
> And...Sing!!!!!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments. Getting those every so often makes me jump around my living room singing for joy! <3
> 
> PS!!! Have you heard about the Banana Fish Reverse Big Bang??? Cause I'm helping mod it and....basically it would be amazing to get WAY MORE CONTENT OUT THERE!! So yeah. Tumblr [here!](https://bananafishrbb.tumblr.com/) and Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/bananafishrbb/)

It’s the hit to the face that does it.

Something inside of his head bursts open and there is a flash of light and heat and unimaginable pain.

Ash falls to the ground, barely catching himself with his good arm. _Oh fuck,_ he thinks, pushing himself up again only to fall over with a pulse of dizziness. His stomach rises and he barely swallows it down before he pukes bile all over the floor. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—_

There is only buzzing. His right ear feels strange, separate from him somehow. It feels wet and heavy but all he can hear is buzz. _It was just a punch,_ he internalizes. Someone kicks him in the ribs and he doubles over, groaning for a moment. _You can take a punch. Get up you sack of shit, you can take a punch—_

“Ash”

His name rings out, faint, and he can’t tell where it’s coming from. Panic is thick within his throat and it hurts to swallow but he tries anyways, tries to push down the cloying black wave that’s threatening to take him under. He looks from side to side, but he can only see figures, not features, and the buzz is worse as he moves. Another wave of nausea moves through him and he gulps again, thickly.

He pushes himself up once more and this time stays on his knees, swaying dangerously. He opens his mouth, and closes it again—the bile too close to the surface, then looks around himself in fear. Tries again, despite his tongue tasting bitter in his mouth.

“I…I…” he gets out.“I…can’t…” _I can’t hear_ , he thinks but he can’t say it, not yet.

Eiji’s still across from him, mouthing something at him but Ash can’t hear past the darkening buzz. The bastard who’d punched him blocks out Eiji’s face then and jerks Ash up to his knees by his hair.

It hurts, and his neck is aching, and his arm is one mess of horrifying burn, but it all pales in comparison to whatever is going on inside his head.

The wetness is trickling down his neck, and he thinks for the barest moment how it tickles, how he shivers as goosebumps pimple his neck, before the man shoves his cock back down his throat.

Ash isn’t ready for it.

The buzz gets worse and now he can make out voices but again he can’t tell where they’re coming from. It’s too much to lose at once—his eye sight and his right ear. He chokes against the cock in his mouth and raises his right hand to press against the man’s thigh.

The grip tightens in his hair and forces his face even closer. Ash can’t breathe. He can’t see, and he can’t hear, and he can’t breathe and he can’t do this anymore. He can’t save Eiji, he can’t even save himself.

Suddenly there is the sound of shots, ringing through the building. They sound faint, and yet Ash can feel the floor reverberating against his knees so he knows with the knowledge of one familiar with implicit violence that they are close. The buzz and murmur of voices grows even louder and he sees motion then, guns cocking left and right.

The noise is all wrong, and his head is heavy with hurt, but he knows what this means.

Ash bites down and as the man above him starts to scream, he grins once more, blood erupting around him.

***

Eiji’s torn between absolute terror and relief as the shots ring out. They’re near. They’re finally near. He just needs to last a few minutes more and he can touch Ash again, he can reach out and feel the sharp line of his jaw and how it contrasts so perfectly with the smoothness of his cheek. He can hold him. He can wipe the blood away, and he can press his lips against Ash’s temple, and he can be there to catch him if he falls and he can—

He ignores the small voice in his head. The voice that repeats itself, over and over,

_Nothing will ever be the same because something is horribly wrong._

In the same moment, Ash jerks to the side and suddenly there is blood, there is so much blood, and there are men yelling, and the one in front of Ash falls to his knees, gasping and screaming and clutching at himself,

And still there is blood.

Eiji wants to be sick with the sharp smell of copper that’s permeating the air. Instead, he watches Ash as he leans over and spits, again and again and again. Ash looks feral now, unreal, like some visceral incarnation of a nightmare. He’s hunched over, clutching his injured arm to his chest and there is bright red blood covering his face, but his eyes gleam bright and shine with unshed laughter.

Eiji forces himself to keep his gaze and not look away. He shudders once though, and he can’t miss the full body flinch that Ash gives in response. They’re frozen this way, so close, but impossibly distant from one another. There is so much sound and it’s absolutely deafening. Eiji tries desperately to keep his eyes open, to watch Ash, to let him know that it’s going to be alright, but he can’t stop himself from pressing his hands to his ears.

Ash has no such luxury. His left hand dangles, useless, at his side and his right is still scrabbling along the cement. He’s trying to find something, or trying to steady himself—ground himself Eiji thinks. He doesn’t know whats happening but something is still terribly wrong.

“Get them both up!” Eiji hears and the sound of Sing’s voice is so close, so familiar, so rich. Eiji gasps then, finally letting the enormity of the situation catch up to him, and he shudders as someone pulls him up. “No,” he pants, “let me just…Ash!” He’s jerking around and throwing himself and the hands grip tighter around his arms.

“Eiji, Eiji, it’s alright, it’s just us!”

Eiji looks up and sees Bones then, and Alex and he’s relieved but he can’t stop himself from pulling further. “I need to see Ash, you have to let me see Ash, something’s wrong—” he’s babbling and he can’t stop. His head is pounding and he doesn’t know if its from gunfire or if it’s from being punched or if it’s from some internal injury. “I need to see—”

“Eiji, it’s alright! They’ve got him. It’s alright, just come on!” Alex yells, and Eiji surrenders. He lets them haul him up the stairs and into the bright light of the manse and there is blood everywhere now. The smell of shit, the smell of human fluids, the smell of death. He’s not weak, he knows he’s not weak, but he drops to his knees as soon as they reach the end of the hallway and is throwing up again.

“Shit, come on Eiji, it’s just a little bit further!”

Bones has grabbed him up again and Eiji tries to nod his mouth against his shoulder, tries to wipe away the evidence of his fragility, but a wave of dizziness overtakes him and he falls.

***

“Don’t touch me!”

There are hands all around him and Ash can see enough now, he knows they’ve come to save him, he knows it’s over, but there’s a sick, crawling layer of grime on his skin that he doesn’t want anyone to see right now.

He doesn’t want to need to be saved.

The hands are back and they’re grabbing him and yelling at him but he can’t hear. The buzzing is fading but in it’s place is something worse, it’s something desolate, a void. He can’t hear. “Don’t touch me!” he screams again but even his own voice sounds wrong in his ears. Small, and pitched with the wrong intonation. Everything’s moving to fast and the saviors aren’t listening. They’re pulling him up, and his arm is screaming, and he wants to fall into darkness, and blackness, and let consciousness drift away easily, but he can’t see enough to tell who’s hands are on him and he doesn’t want to be touched.

“Don’t touch me,” and this time it sounds like a prayer, a sob, a mournful plea.

They don’t listen.

There are voices buzzing around his head, left and right and back and forward and he doesn’t know where they’re coming from, he can barely make out the simplest syllables.

“…wrong with him?”

“Just get him up—”

“…out of here..”

“Ash? Ash?”

His name is being called from every direction and he doesn’t know who’s speaking. His skin is itchy and his fingers are restless as rage builds inside of him. There’s nowhere to break free, nowhere to let it burst from him, and he clenches his jaw as tight as he is able to contain the monster threatening to escape.

“I can’t,” he mumbles, and he feels as though he’s tried to vocalize it once before. “I can’t…”

 _It was just a punch,_ he thinks and then,

 _"_ I can’t hear out of my right ear." He doesn't even know if they heard, but speaking the words makes them true and an enormous well of grief consumes him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture is over! Now just...crazy amounts of angst, hurt, and comfort.
> 
> (This was seriously supposed to be just 2k of torture and it's turned into actual fic with plot and feelings and who the eff knows when it's going to end...not me!)

The manse is full of dead bodies.

Eiji’s being pulled forward and someone keeps shouting “close your eyes, close your eyes!” but he can’t close his eyes because then all he can think about is Ash in darkness.

So he gags, and stumbles forward, and gags again, and all the while he’s trying to look somewhere else, anywhere else, but

the manse is full of dead bodies.

There are still gunshots ringing throughout the building and his head is ringing and his hearing’s so shot he can’t tell if they are near or far anymore. At one point he knows he pauses to shout up at Alex, “I can walk, you can let me walk!” but Alex just pulls him harder.

Eiji doesn’t think his hearing’s working either.

It’s chaos and death and hurt and dark human matter and Eiji makes the mistake of looking down only once to see his white tennis shoes soaked in dark reddish brown.

He hunches over and pushes forward. They’re going to make it. He can see the front hall now, see the door cracked, and almost, ever so faintly, he can feel clean air whisper across his face.

***

They make it back to the hideout. Alex and Eiji and Kong and Sing and Lao and Ash

and Ash

and Ash.

Bones didn’t make it. There’s a place deep within Eiji that’s empty, and he knows that he’ll grieve but right now he’s too full of adrenaline to do anything but pant. Kong’s face has frozen in a rictus of a smile and the boys are cheering their success but Bones didn’t make it and neither did Rodolfo. There are more missing too, Eiji just can’t put names to the missing spaces that their bodies once filled.

A tremor of shame washes through him now. He’d done this. He’d gone to Sing and begged and they’d gone in for Ash but they’d done it for him as well. He thinks he might understand why Ash is always looking at his hands.

He didn’t shoot a gun but his hands have been dipped in blood all the same.

_Masochist.._

It echoes in his ears and he slams his eyes up. It’s a memory, a fragment, nothing more but it releases a flow of endorphins that call so strongly of Ash that he nearly cries out.

He’s sitting against the far wall of the abandoned factory, his knees drawn up to his chest and fingers wearing away at a long strip of peeling paint on the floor when someone pushes a cup of hot water into his hands. He doesn’t look up, but it’s Alex’s voice he hears.

“Don’t got anything else yet. But drink. Pretend it’s tea. Or something suitably Japanese.”

Eiji can hear the wink and grin in his voice but he has nothing left to give. He can’t even look at the boy. Instead, he eyes the water, takes a small sip, then puts it down gently and goes back to worrying the floor. Somewhere distant he can hear voices and for a moment, they swell, Sing’s authoritative melodies rising to the forefront of his subconscious.

Alex doesn’t leave.

He stands there, his shoes scuffing marks in the dust and Eiji finally drags his eyes away from the peeling landscape around his fingers to look at Alex’s hands, shoved tightly in his jacket pockets.

“Umm,” Alex starts, and Eiji sighs. They know he has nothing to offer. They know how useless he is. And even now, even after all this, they feel like they owe it to Ash to watch out for him. He’s just tired of it all.

“I’m fine.” His voice sounds gravelly to his ears, so he forces himself to reach once more for the mug and swallow the water.

“No, I know…” Alex says awkwardly. His feet haven’t stopped moving. There are wide circles toed into graceful lines from his activity. It reminds Eiji of the rock gardens in Izumo. Gentle, motionless, yet indicative of the shifting of the soul.

He blinks.

Alex is talking again and Eiji strains to listen. Strains to fix his attention on one detail.

“…he’s sleeping now though. He’ll be alright. You gather?”

Eiji just watches him, swirling zen patterns grey and liberated in front of his vision.

“Eiji?”

“Yeah,” Eiji says. The water’s helping. He sounds almost normal. Almost himself. Almost pure.

Alex smiles. “Alright. Yeah that's…that's all I wanted to tell you. Umm…try to get some sleep?”

Eiji nods. “Yeah.”

It’s like a dream, this moment. Time fogs around him and he raises his hand in front of his face, feeling the strength it takes to push through the viscous air, watching it flex and bend and dance. It’s clean. Flesh. No blood.

He can feel blood under his fingernails and he thinks he’s going to be sick again.

Instead he drinks another gentle sip of water.

“Yeah.”

***

Ash is heavy.

His body doesn’t belong to him. He’s laying down and it’s peaceful and it’s quiet and it’s not him.

His heart is beating in sharp staccato and he can hear that. He wants to take comfort in that. He wants to close his eyes again and sink back into unconsciousness. He can smell the musty air around him and he can smell the remnants of oil that’s seeped into the floors, into the walls, into the soul of the building.

He knows where he is and he can see again, he can watch the dark rings on the ceiling of the warehouse and follow the industrial sewage pipes around the perimeter of the room and he wants to take comfort.

But he can hear his heartbeat and it’s far louder than it should be. Everything else is still a dull buzz.

He tries to turn over to his side and lets out a muffled gasp at the sudden pain that shoots up his arm and into his spine.

“Shit,” he hears, then “Ash?”

“Fuck,” Ash mumbles.

“Ash, don’t move alright? You’re safe. We gotch’ou. Just—”

“Yeah,” Ash cuts him off. “Safe. Fuck off and let me sleep.”

He tries to settle back to the floor but the pain is a constant, sickening, thing. “Where’s Eiji?”

“Oh!” He hears from the door. “Don’t worry about him, Ash! He’s good. He’s out. It was his idea, you know?”

The voice is bouncing from corner to corner and even though Ash lifts his head ever so slightly to watch Kong idle by the door, he can’t reconcile his mouth moving with the disembodied sound of his words. He carefully brings his good hand to his right ear, and his breath quickens in surprise as he feels the touch of his own flesh. He has no spatial perception.

He grits his teeth.

“You ok, Ash? It was loud in there. Lots of us still got ears ringing. You dizzy?”

“I’m good.” He pushes his hand down and closes his eyes.

“You sure?”

Ash groans. “Fuck off.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but there is a sudden lightening behind them—the door being opened into the candle lit hall. Ash could cry in relief at the gradual gradient change because he can see, he can see, he can see—

“Kong,” he calls out, pushing the hard confidence back in place, refusing to let his words shake.

“Yeah boss?”

“Can you send Eiji in here? If he’s not asleep?”

“Got it boss.”

The room darkens again as the door eases closed and Ash opens his eyes once more. _I’ve had worse,_ he tells himself. His internal voice is thick with sarcasm, rich with mockery. _It could have been so much worse_ , he insists. _I’m alive. Eiji’s alive._

 _You can’t hear, you can’t hear, you can’t hear_ , the voice taunts him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back bearing gifts of traumatized Ash and Eiji! This chapter is entirely from Ash's perspective and I'm getting VERY close to where I plan to end the whole story. Thanks for bearing with me--I know this took longer than usual for me to get up!
> 
> As always, I SO appreciate your comments and kudos. (And if I haven't responded to your comments, I PROMISE I'm getting there. Just been a wild week!) You are all amazing! <3
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [here!](https://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/)

Ash is in pain.

He closes his eyes, he throbs, he groans, he closes his eyes again.

He is in pain, he is in pain, he is in pain.

He’s dimly aware that Eiji sits across from him, unmoving, unflinching, unwavering. He’s dimly aware that Eiji sits with his knees drawn up, pulled tightly to himself, protected and small and insecure.

He’s very aware that Eiji isn’t sleeping either.

They don’t speak.

It’s been ten hours or maybe it’s been ten years. He doesn’t know anything through the haze of agony that has engulfed his entire being.

At some point, a doctor stops by. He’s one of those off-brand, off-licensed, practicing only in the darkest of alleys sorts, and when he looks down at Ash, there is pity in his eyes. Ash grunts, and swings his right fist up as hard as he can.

The man at least has the forethought to back up, but Ash still catches him in a glancing blow across the temple.

“Fuck,” the man swears.

“Ash, come on man,” he hears, and he looks away, refuses to acknowledge the other teens that have hurried over and now stand, crowded above him, looking down. He sees Eiji sitting there, stationary.

“Don’t touch me,” Ash spits, and Eiji watches him as the words drop caustically from his mouth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Eiji still doesn’t move, though the skin across his forehead tightens—barely visible.

“Ash?” He hears Kong mumble.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he repeats, and Eiji sighs, then finally pushes himself up from the floor. Ash’s eyes follow him as he moves gently around the perimeter of the room. He places a hand on Kong’s arm. They whisper for a moment, but Ash can’t hear.

“Well fuck him too,” the medic spits and Ash grins then, warmed by the fire in the man’s voice.

“No,” Eiji says, then transfers a hand over to the doctor as well. The whispering continues and it doesn’t even sound like rustling, or like wind, or like the barest shiver of movement. It is perpetually silent. The doctor looks over at Ash a few times, through Eiji’s monologue, and Ash knows that he’s pushing that warmth and kindness from himself to blanket everyone else in the room.

“I don’t need him,” Ash shouts, but Eiji turns to glare at him and he quiets. I don’t want to know, he thinks instead. These words remain unspoken though, and once more the doctor pushes forward, bag in hand. He kneels down near Ash, on his left side this time—out of the reach of his functioning fist. There is a small bruise beginning to form on the side of his head and Ash feels nothing but satisfaction.

“We can’t go to a hospital,” Eiji states. He’s moving forward now as well, and these words are for Ash’s benefit. Ash knows this, and he hates him for this, for thinking he’s too weak to understand. Eiji kneels at Ash’s side and reaches out to take his right hand with his own two hands. They are soft. They are whole. They are unbroken.

Ash wants to claw them to shreds.

Ash wants to reach up and press back the chaotic fall of black hair from his forehead.

Ash wants to kiss him and hold him and never let go again.

Ash wants to die.

He closes his eyes instead and says, “Fuck you.”

He’s not sure if the words are directed at the doctor, or at his gang, or at his entire existence, or at Eiji.

***

_“Large perforation of the ear drum and ruptured bones of the middle ear canal. Consistent with head trauma.”_

He’ll never hear in three dimensional terms again. His world is relegated to flat sounds, to absence of depth. _“It could be worse,”_ the doctor says, somewhere in the periphery of Ash's thoughts. _“I’m more worried about the arm,’_ and Eiji’s hands tighten impossibly around Ash’s fist as he tries to throw another punch.

He’s honed his senses to perfection. He’s escaped his life as a whore and he’s built this life as a boss and he’s respected and he’s brilliant and he’s dangerous and if he can’t hear ever again then…

Then…

Then…

He grits his teeth as the doctor moves down to his arm, and even the man’s light touches send jolts of fire down his entire body. Ash can’t help the way his legs kick out, and the way a low groan escapes from in between his gritted teeth. He’s hot and he’s cold and his whole body feels wrong, feels like it’s no longer his.

Like he’s lost possession of his being again and he’s watching from the outside. Like he was when they captured him. Like he was when they raped him and when they beat him and when they laughed. Watching this poor abused boy take more and he hates it, he hates it, he hates it, he’s NOT that pathetic creature anymore—

“…some whiskey? Anything?” He hears Eiji call, and just like that they are holding him up and pressing a bottle of warm liquor to his mouth. He drinks and gulps and sputters around the thick rim of the handle but it helps.

Still the doctor’s fingers press on, and as they lay him back down he clenches his eyes closed so tightly he feels as though his head might burst open. He’s dizzy with it, as the man wipes him down, and he refuses to watch, though he can feel the tiny pinch of medical equipment pressing in, poking, digging for substance.

He knows that the man is trying to help, is trying to clean the wound, is trying to save his fucking arm but Ash wants to destroy him. He wants to set fire to it all, to watch them burn and writhe and suffer. His hands are wet and he won’t look. He doesn’t know if its blood from his injuries or if its the blood from all his kills, seeping up through his skin, tormenting him eternally.

“He needs surgery,” he hears the medic state, and Eiji’s grip closes even tighter around him.

“We can’t,” Eiji tries, “we can’t take him from here. Whatever you can do, whatever you need to do, just do it. Please.”

Ash wants to burn down the world so he never has to hear that sorrow and that pity coming from Eiji. Never again.

He hears the doctor stand, but loses all sense of his whereabouts once he moves beyond Ash’s left side.

“It’s going to be alright,” Eiji says and Ash cringes.

“You need to sleep.” His words are cold, laced with pain and liquor and Eiji looks at him then, surprise dancing across his features.

“I…I will?” He tries.

“You haven’t slept since we’ve been here.”

“I’ve…” Eiji drifts off. Ash watches him then, watches his eyes fog for a moment as he considers this statement, and what it means. Watches as he tries to remember. “I think I’ve…”

“No.” Ash says. “Not since you’ve been in here with me. Don’t fuck with me Eiji. You need to sleep.”

Eiji drops his head then, and for the first time, Ash feels the slightest tremor run through that solid grip. “I can’t,” Eiji whispers.

The doctor steps back into Ash’s radius.

“I can save the arm, but without surgery…” he looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t want your pity,” Ash says, not taking his eyes from Eiji.

“You won’t have much range of motion. It’s hard to say if your fingers will be able to even grip.”

Ash watches Eiji’s eyes close and he grins around the agony, the fire burning in his blood. “Fine.”

“Ash.”

It’s a low moan, a sob of utter desperation. “Ash, they can rebreak it. Try to heal it again once we get you out of here. We can make something work, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to be—” Eiji jumps up and runs to the corner and Ash hears him throwing up.

“Best I can do right now is bandage it. He’s right though. It won’t heal correctly and your best option will be to lay low until…” the doctor looks behind him, at the group standing in the open doorway. “Until whatever _this_ is passes. Then find a surgeon.”

“Fine.”

Ash is zero He is monosyllabic in his existence. _He is nothing he is nothing he is nothing._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the end? 
> 
> Guys, just thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this nonsense, and commenting, and leaving kudos, and making me feel that despite my tendencies towards whump and extreme angst, that my writing is valid! This was the first fic that I wrote for this fandom and I'm so glad that you all enjoyed :)
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [here](https://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/) for writing updates, and all things Banana Fish, Marvel, and Fantasy stuff <3
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO! I'm modding for the awesome Banana Fish Reverse Big Bang so if you write or art or WANT to write or art...please please please come [JOIN US](https://bananafishrbb.tumblr.com/)

“Ash? You have to eat something.” Eiji is plaintive in his demand. He is effortless.

  
The very air around them is crushing the breath from his lungs but still he is in attendance to Ash’s suffering.

“Go away.”

  
Eiji sighs, and wiggles closer to the restless body, still stretched out on the floor. Ash smells—they both do—the musty stench of men living underground without access to enough clean water. Eiji’s long grown used to it, but sometimes he drifts off in the corner of the little room and catches himself daydreaming of Japan, of wildflowers, of wind circulating the city and gusts of pure oxygen. “Come on.”

  
“I’ll eat when you sleep.”

  
Ash still has energy to gripe at him and Eiji figures that this might be the most he can possibly wish for at this point. It centers him. Makes him feel real.

  
Eiji brings his knees up familiarly to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around them. He buries his head in his arms.

  
“I can’t,” he admits.

  
The words sound loud to his ears, this blatant admittance of his failure. He’s not spoken of it to anyone yet, how as soon as he closes his eyes he hears sucking. He sees blood. He sees bone. He smells piss and copper and death. He can’t sleep because he’s terrified he’ll wake up back in that room and this time Sing won’t be fast enough, this time Sing won’t be enough. He’s terrified that when he opens his eyes again it will be to an empty room, with Ash missing and his world crumbling and every breath will taste of despair.

  
“Finally,” Ash says, and Eiji sneaks a look at him, from under the crease of an elbow meeting wrist. “You can’t move past anything until you accept something is wrong.”

  
He sounds as though he is quoting from a textbook and the sourness in Eiji’s gut intensifies. He buries his face once more.

  
“You should listen to me,” Ash continues. “I’ve been broken. I am broken. I know what I’m talking about.”

 

“You are not fucking broken,” Eiji snarls. His heart is beating an erratic rythym against the wall of his chest. It hurts to breath. “Stop it.”

  
Ash laughs once. The sound fills the room with restless energy for a mere moment before it melts into a sharp intake of breath, and then a low, held back gasping noise as he tries to still his body and not move. “I can’t even fucking stand Eiji. I can’t breath without it hurting. I can’t hear. I can’t hear. I can’t hear oh my God…” his voice chokes off with another sharp inhale and Eiji looks up again.  
It is small, almost unnoticeable, but Eiji is practiced in this particular form of misery.

  
Ash is crying.

  
Eiji stumbles forward and crouches on his knees, by Ash’s good ear. He places a hand gently on his shoulder and Ash doesn’t flinch beneath him. “There is still something worth saving, Ash,” he whispers, and Ash clenches his eyes closed. “There is nothing broken about walking away.”

  
Ash shudders underneath him, and Eiji recognizes it for the flinch it is. He carefully pulls his hand away and ignores the pain of his churning emotions.

  
“Go away, Eiji.”

  
Eiji does.

  
***

  
The gang is silent.

  
Sing sits atop a lonely and empty crate that has somehow survived the eradication of inanimate materials from the abandoned tracks. One knee is pulled up to his chest and his right hand lazily circles it. He is relaxed, he is full of lithe power. He is king.

  
Eiji sees this moment. This penultimate instant of transfer of power. There is the slightest bowing of heads, the barest tension held in the shoulders of Ash’s men. But they watch each other, and the look is the same throughout the space. Ash is broken. Ash is broken. Ash is broken.

  
There is nothing to be done for it. They understand that in this melding of tribes that it is the only way to move forward against the mafia. Eiji looks behind him then and even Cane is standing, arms crossed, raw power, but chin tucked to chest.

  
“We will get our revenge,” Sing says, and his words are the pure, clear tenor of a boy on the cusp of adolescence. “We will _survive.”_ Eiji closes his eyes once and still the form of Sing is highlighted in the blackness behind his lids. There is something else there now, a small whisp of blue that seems to be leaking from the silhouette. _Humor_ , Eiji thinks. _Youth. Innocence_.

  
But this is not a time for poetry and so, when he blinks, he finds himself nodding his acceptance of this transfer of power. The movement picks up, and around and around the room, boys swear their unwavering obeisance to their new child monarch.

***

It’s two days later that there are rumblings of anxiety throughout the group. Eiji recognizes this for what it is; pure restlessness of teenage boys. They need to move, they need to fight, they need to _be_ or else they might cease to exist.

  
It’s three days later when Ash calls out for him.

  
Eiji’s sitting in his corner, watching Ash sleep, watching him breathe. There is no indication of the barrier between sleep and wakefulness but suddenly Ash gasps out, then calls softly, “Eiji?”

  
“I’m here.”

  
“You still aren’t sleeping.” Ash sounds rough, as though he’s swallowed gravel. As though something vital within him has transformed to sand.

  
“I catch pieces. Here and there.”

  
Ash turns his head then, and despite the grime and filth of a week of living underground, he still shines. His arm is bandaged, but the wrappings are turning brown now with age, and despite the attention everyone has been giving his injuries, Eiji knows that if they don’t manage to get the doctor back soon, then his entire arm will probably get infected.

  
“I’m ready to leave.”

  
“Ash…” Eiji’s words fall, unsure, scrabbling at the ground beneath them for purchase.

  
“Help me up.”

  
“You aren’t supposed to…” once more Eiji drops off. There is the scent of something new in the air. Something sweet. He moves to Ash’s side and helps Ash sit. Immediately Ash pushes his head into Eiji’s neck and Eiji instinctively reaches an arm around his dirty blonde hair and touches his head, ever so lightly. “You’re not broken,” Eiji whispers, because the moment feels as though it requires a sacrifice.

  
“I know.”

  
“Do you?” Eiji asks, surprised by this emittance.

  
“I’m broken if I stay here,” Ash amends.

  
Eiji can feel his breath against his collarbone. “Yes,” he says, aware of the beating of Ash’s heart.

  
“Do you think…”

  
This time it’s Ash who drops off, and there is a waver of uncertainty there that is entirely too familiar.

  
“I have loved you since the moment I saw you,” Eiji whispers.

  
There is a moment then of silence. A moment of ambiguity. Then Eiji feels the gentle curve of Ash’s mouth at his skin. A smile.

  
“I’d like to see Japan.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys all so much for reading/commenting/leaving kudos! It means the world to me :) This is my first fic outside Marvel fandom in many many years and I'm having a blast just getting into writing some new characters.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [here!](https://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/) I'd love to hear your thoughts/rant and rave about this damn show <3
> 
> ALSO! I'm modding for the awesome Banana Fish Reverse Big Bang so if you write or art or WANT to write or art...please please please come [JOIN US](https://bananafishrbb.tumblr.com/)


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